


The Origins of Calico Jack Rackham

by tyomawrites



Series: Monologues [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 21:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18060872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites





	The Origins of Calico Jack Rackham

Jack is a million things. He’s stubborn, he’s loyal, he’s a right bastard sometimes. He’s violent, diplomatic when the need arises, he’s smart, he can be cunning. He’s soft, gentle, patient, ambitious. Most of all he’s undoubtedly weak. He talks and talks to the Governor because it is all he essentially has left, if there is no rescue, he will not die outwardly afraid.

The caravan is ambushed,  and he wraps his shackles around the Governor’s throat and squeezes, squeezes, squeezes even as the Governor is elbowing his side and then his face. He’s beaten, punched until his face is red with blood, and then he groaning against the floor of the caravan and the governor is climbing out of it while it still moves.

The caravan collapses under the breaking crack of a wheel and his head slams into the door. When he comes too, the first thing he sees is Anne, who has her hair covered but her eyes are so so worried and she crawls into the upturned caravan to hold him and kiss him. Charles helps the others pull the cache from the caravan and then tries to get him free by slamming what he thinks is a crowbar into the metal loop on the side of the caravan.

Flint—thank fucking god he’s alive—Flint tells them they need to hurry up and Charles assures him that they’ll be right behind him. He banters with Charles, and asks about Teach, frowns at the answer that Charles—Charles who came the fuck back to Nassau and is trying to get him free—gives him.

Charles vaults out of the caravan and then then pulls him out and steadies him. Leans his entire weight onto him when they see horses. He barely manages to brush his lips against Charles’s cheek, it’s a plea, to never leave him again.Charles does something he doesn’t expect, puts his necklace—the one he never takes off—around his neck and promises, kisses him, it’s sweet, gentle, and it’s a goodbye.

So when Anne turns, and rides when Charles orders them to because the militia are coming and he will hold them off for as long as he can. He can hear the gunshot in the distance and his heart jumps into his throat and his stomach clenches. As they get further and further away, he fights Anne, he needs to not leave Charles behind again.

“Go!” Twice. They’ve been given a direct order from Charles twice, more than twice, three, four times. He can’t leave him he just can’t. His heart pounds in his chest —in his throat— violently, and there’s a lump stuck in his throat — which is surely his heart choking him — and he can’t breathe.

They run.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack may have been made of a million things, a million pieces, a million parts, a million personalities and judgements. He has been all of those things. He was all of those things. But now he is just broken.  _ Charles steps off the cart, of his own volition after he calls one of the men a motherfucker and met Billy’s eyes _ . They tell him. As if he’d ever let himself go out the way those bloody men want him to and he goes out on his own terms.

Resistance in Nassau is now underway

No one in the crowd cheered for Charles Vane’s death.

Charles is gone —dead—never coming back—gone. 

He touches the necklace around his throat, with his fingers, thinks about the look that Charles gave him when he stared at them on the horse. God he should have made Charles come with them. He should have begged and pleaded.

Now every time he closes his eyes he has the image of Charles being shot in the thigh and yelling for him to go. 

Of all people the people that attempt to give him comfort, Teach is the one he wants it from the least. But the man seems to give it to him, with subtle compliments, probably for Charles’ sake, Charles’ memory. 

Then he’s being entrusted Flint’s ships and then Teach tells him that he has some capacity to be anything worthy of Charles and he will damn well show that he has always been worthy of Charles and why his brain will always be more, better than, more important, that he is enough. He tells Teach to raise the black.

Teach looks at him, eyes him with suspicion. Like he can’t be trusted with the simplest thing. It irks Jack more than he’d like to let on, but he stands tall, his height  _ finally _ a good thing.

“To be underestimated, is a gift.” He drawls, somewhat smug. He’s said that to Charles once, twice, when he was still scrambling to secure his place as Charles’s quartermaster after Charles had found him and Anne fucking behind the galley He’ll never say that to Charles again.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack has never really been much of a fighter but he can hold his own in ways that others can’t. It seems to matter because when they’re captured he has to send his crew to their deaths. It’s something he doesn’t want to do, but he’ll do it to protect Anne. 

He used to be good with a knife, still is, can grapple with the best of them and he’s decent with a pistol. But he’s absolutely shite with a cutlass. Charles tried teaching him once, to get good with his fists and with a cutlass, it didn’t really work. If he thought it would help, he’d offer himself up so the rest of his men wouldn’t have to suffer.

But then Anne tells him to not to volunteer someone. 

And he watches the mountain of a man beat the crap out of Anne. He gets the keys in his hands somehow and passes them along the chain of men, let them undo their chains before he does, because he’s still a coward of a man who needs Anne to save him.

He crawls over to Anne’s limp body and holds her, praying to a God he doesn’t even believe in for her to be alive. He holds onto her so tightly his knuckles are white and he thinks her bones might break under his grip.

Anne is ferocious but in his head she’ll always be a little bird that he has to protect. Anne lifts her head sluggishly and looks at him with one eye barely parted and he doubles over in disbelief. Anne is alive. Roger’s man was kind of right, no man could have won. It takes Anne to save them all.

 

* * *

 

 

He wants to kill Woodes Rogers slowly and painfully. He’s never really been a fighter, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t tortured someone for Charles’ sake. It doesn’t mean he felt any remorse when he slit Anne’s husbands throat. It never stopped him when he cut off someone's tongue and shoved it down their throat for calling Anne a bitch. It never worried him that he was willing to stain his hands in blood for the people he loved.

His crouches in front of Woodes Rogers and looks him in the eyes and grins sharply. It’s like Woodes Rogers doesn’t recognize this version of Jack Rackham, one that’s wracked by grief, mourning, having lost one partner and the other is dangerously close to death. Rogers doesn’t recognize this version of Jack Rackham that carries vengeance in the name of Charles Vane, who carries some source of hatred in his heart. And Jack is smug all the while as he smiles in a way that would make Charles proud.

Nassau is liberated by Woodes Rogers death, Flint is taken to god knows where by John Silver—although he reappears in a months time with a fit blond by his side, looking healthier and less crazed, less volatile on a rebuilt  _ Walrus _ . Long John Silver is a legend that travels across the oceans and shakes England and the Americas.

They fly the black, a revised flag that’s a subtle nod towards Anne and Charles. With Anne by his side it’s easy to fall back into the motions of a world he’s loved. Charles lingers in his dreams as they sail across the seas, striking terror into the hearts of merchants, sailors and other pirates alike. Mary Read is a new addition, but Jack finds that she and Anne get along amazingly well. Mary becomes an important part of his crew.

They chase their prizes in the name of Charles Vane. They target England’s slave trade. Sink slave ships and free the men on board. He fingers the necklace across his neck sometimes, when Anne isn’t looking at him while they stare out across the water to the horizon.

Jack misses Charles so damn much. Sometimes, when the feeling is too much. Anne takes the helm of the  _ Colonial Dawn _ and he captain’s the  _ Ranger  _ under Charles’ flag and can finally settle in his own skin. It’s like Charles is still there when he’s on that ship.

 

He’s not the same schmoozing, silver tongued, sweet talking John—Jack—Rackham, whose stories charm men and women alike. He’s not the same Jack Rackham that cares so much about his name. He’s a more subdued version of Jack Rackham, he still wears his Calico clothes and earns himself a name—Calico Jack. Months pass after he destroys Woodes Rogers, months after Charles’ death, the loss of his heart. He still gambles and parties and pretends that all he’s ever cared about was his name and reputation.

Rumours spread. Ghosts man the  _ Ranger _ , the red-handed Calico Jack with the fearsome demons of Anne Bonny and Mary Read at his side. They fly the flag of Charles Vane and pillage and slaughter in the name of Charles Vane. The legend of the Urca gold’s capture rests under his belt, as does the slow destruction of England’s slave trade and the murder of Woodes Rogers.

It’s never enough compared to how he was in Charles’ eyes however.

There’s a feeling he can never shake, from the back of his neck to the tips of his fingers, like something is calling for him and he can’t pinpoint what it is.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a long day, an exhausting morning really, on the  _ Ranger _ with Anne and Mary by his side. The  _ Colonial Dawn _ is in for repairs, having holes blown next to her gunports by a merchant ship too cocky for their own good. They’d been chasing down this particular slaver ship for a week, and they’d finally caught up to her.

They steer around her, chase her in circles until their captain finally gives up and Jack can make his way on board. He has Anne and Mary gather the crew and they all comply easily enough under the stare of Anne behind her hat and the rough glint of Mary’s smile. Some stories do spread pretty far, of Calico Jack and the demon of women that are his right hands, Anne Bonny and Mary Read.

He makes his way down below deck to free whatever slaves the man has. He strides down the steps and frowns when he sees the number of men, women, children that are chained up below deck. Not all of them have dark skin a fair few of them he’d wager, are English. He holds the key that he snatched away from the captain up in their view. Many of them stare at him in awe, hunger, a need.Then he tosses the key over to him.

They scramble for it, like animals, although it’s not their fault, the slaver made them into that. The funny thing is about the situation, is that one of the men doesn’t move at all. For a moment Jack thinks he’s dead. He’s still and unmoving, hair falling over his face. Jack can barely makes his features out, but a familiar necklace stands out from across his neck.  Jack strides through the scramble of slaves freeing themselves, dodging through them until he comes to stand in front of the unmoving man. He doesn't know what to say, can’t bring himself to say anything just yet. As he watches the man, he notices his chest rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm.

He crouches down and leans forward until his knees touch the wood. Jack reaches out and dips his fingers into the curtain of hair, startling the man. He lifts his head, a growl on his lips. Jack still pushes the man’s hair out of his face. Bright, familiar blue eyes stare back at him in disbelief. Jack feels his bottom lip quiver, tremble and his eyes become suspiciously wet. 

His fingers start to shake against the man’s hair as he tucks it behind his ear. The man doesn’t say anything, but his expression when Jack touches the side of his face oh-so-gently and honest to god whimpers, is decidedly all Charles.

“Chaz?” Jack can’t hope to dare. But he does, he really does. He shuffles closer when the man’s eyes flash in recognition. Sure Jack’s hair is a little longer, he’s filled out a little more to his frame—training with Mary and Anne will do that—even if his fashion hasn’t changed, he looks a little different.

“Jack?” Charles rasps. His voice is decidedly rough, most likely from disuse. Jack reaches past his scarf into his shirt and lifts out a familiar necklace, letting it hand in the open.

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them again. Charles is still sitting in front of him. Still ruggedly handsome, still  _ breathing and alive. _ He trembles and takes Charles’ face in his hands, tilts it side to side gently. He’s afraid of cause Charles more harm. 

One of the men he’s freed taps his shoulder. When he looks up at him, he sees the key to the chains being held out to him. He smiles up at the man and takes it. He nods at Jack and then returns to the others. Jack drops his hands to the cuffs and undoes them, letting drop to the wood of the deck with a muffled sob. 

Jack drops the key, and then he takes Charles’ hands in his and moves to stand. Charles stands with him, sluggishly and weakly. Jack pulls one of Charles arms over his shoulders and leans Charles against him, wraps his other arm around Charles’ waist.

“Jack.” Charles’ voice is so soft as they slowly, step by step, make their way towards the stairs that go up towards the deck. “I’m sorry.” Another sob escapes Jack’s lips as he takes one step up the stairs, and then another.

The sun is high in the sky when they come up on deck. Anne is the first to move, jerking her head over for Mary to watch the crew before she’s at Jacks side lightning fast, wrapping a thin arm around Charles’ weight for added support. Charles lifts his head sluggishly and catches sight of the black raised above them, his flag still flying high. He turns towards Jack with the corner of his mouth turned up.

Anne hushes him as he opens his mouth to speak. They walk Charles over towards the gangplank. “Kill all of them, help the slaves.” Jack turns his eyes towards the Captain and his crew still surrounded by his own men. Anne smiles in delight from under his hat as she approaches them. Charles flinches at the sounds of gunshots while Jack helps him over onto the Ranger.

They sit in the Captain’s cabin. After Jack had walked Charles over into it, he’d laid Charles down in the cot they both used to share and he runs a wet cloth over Charles’ chest, still trying to pretend it isn’t tears that are streaming down his face and onto Charles’ stomach.

Charles is watching him drag the cloth over his chest. Jack can’t meet his eyes, not yet, until the dirt and grime has been washed off of Charles’ skin. He finishes cleaning Charles’ chest and moves to sit behind his head, fingers slowly threading to his hair, gathering it away from his face. Charles sits up to make it easier for him, propping his back against Jack’s knee. Charles reaches behind himself to touch Jack. Jack leans into it, pressing his face into Charles’ hair and takes in a shaky breath. His tears fall onto Charles’ hair. 

“Jack?” Charles murmurs his name softly, his voice scratchy. 

“Chaz.” Jack breathes in. Charles’ hair smells like salt, gunpowder and sweat. He wraps an arm around Charles’ chest and hugs him close to his chest. He cradles a hand on one of Charles’ pecs and holds him close. Charles’ breath stutters and his chest heaves. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He breathes into Charles’ hair.

“It’s not your fault.” He frowns against Charles’ hair. Charles turns his head, blue eye catching his. Jack is still taken aback at how bright Charles’ eyes really are. 

“I should have known.” Charles raises a calloused hand to cup his cheek and he leans in.

“You couldn’t have known.” Charles tilts his head down towards him and kisses him softly. Charles’ lips are chapped, but Jack can feel the softness that’s under dry and cracked skin. Jack drops the ties he had in his hand for Charles’ hair and clutches at Charles cheeks, palms brushing against the short hairs of his beard.

Charles kisses him like he’s dying. Jack’s missed this, missed the taste of Charles on his lips. He missed the way Charles leans into him and presses his whole body into the kiss. He lets out a muffled noise against Charles’ lips, a long keening whimper and tears continue to pour down his cheeks.

“Jack. I’ve missed you.” Charles presses his palm further against Jack’s cheek. A sob slips out of Jack’s lips and he presses his forehead against Charles’. “Thought about you the whole time. Heard rumours.” He rasps.

Jack smiles through his tears, kissing the corner of Charles’ mouth. “I love you.” He gasps with a shaky breath. Charles smiles at him like he always knew, like he’s always known. Jack whimpers and wraps his arms around Charles’ shoulders.

“I know Jack.” Charles presses his lips to Jack’s. “I’ve always known.” He says against Jack’s lips.

Jack trembles against Charles and he kisses him again, he drowns in the taste of Charles’ mouth, the feel of their bodies pressed together, the fact he can feel Charles’ chest moving,  _ breathing _ .  _ Charles is alive. _ Charles wraps his arms around him and they hold each other tight. 

He melts into Charles’ arms and cries as he kisses Charles over and over again.


End file.
